Page 14 of No Stone Unturned

It wasn’t always that easy for him in the US Moving and assimilating into a new country had been a personal challenge on a number of fronts. Part of him had been thankful for the opportunity. Part of him struggled to fit in. Despite his affinity for languages, the English language had tripped him up on more than one occasion. Some of the cultural references and practices baffled him. Doggy bags in restaurants. Tailgate parties (a barbecue on the back of a truck bed?). No metric system. A somewhat puritan approach to the appreciation of the human body. Ice in every drink.

His first experience withthathad scarred him. Shortly after he arrived in the US, he’d ordered coffee at a café. They asked him if he wanted it hot or iced. He couldn’t even imagine the look of horror that had been on his face. What the hell kind of people drank iced coffee?

He was completely charmed by other aspects of America, though. Americans had a reputation abroad for smiling and laughing a lot. He found that to be an accurate assessment. Americans seemed to deeply appreciate humor, even at their own expense. More importantly, they’d welcomed him when he needed a place to go, and he’d found a home there.

It’d been Lexi who’d told him that home wasn’t a house—not even the brand-new house he’d built for her. He now understood that home wasn’t a country either. Home was where your heart belonged, where the people you loved anchored you. Home was where you could be your true self with people who loved you just as you were. That was still a hard concept for him to swallow. There were parts of him, his past, he never wanted known, especially to those he loved. He knew, better than most, that people could hurt or abandon those they loved for reasons that weren’t always clearly defined.

He pushed that thinking away for the time being. It was time to prepare himself for the game.

The only problem was, first he had to figure out what game they were playing.

Chapter Eleven

Lexi

It was hard to concentrate at work when my mind was on overdrive worrying what was happening with Slash. He’d texted to let me know he’d arrived safely in Rome, but otherwise, I hadn’t heard another word. He needed to remain focused, but I didn’t like how any of this was playing out. He’d gone to Rome largely out of concern for me, and now he was shutting me out in a misguided attempt to protect me.

It ticked me off.

If he thought I was going to sit at home and play video games while he walked into potential danger, then he hadn’t learned enough about me yet. I was going to help him, even if he didn’t want it. He wasn’t going to go this alone. I needed only to organize my plan of attack. Luckily, I had a light day of work, because I knew exactly where I wanted to start.

The package with thenkondistatue.

That package most certainly held clues I needed to track down. At this point, all I had was the label with the shipping number and my home address. That meant a hack on Europin Shipping would be in order.

Taking special precautions, I started the hack. Unfortunately, after conducting a thorough investigation of Europin’s defenses, I determined they had recently implemented top-of-the line cybersecurity measures. A hack was possible, but would take triple the time I’d expected.

I’d have to revise my approach in the name of expediency. I jotted down notes and calculations on a pad of paper on my desk. Slash said the postmark had been from Rome, therefore, one certainty regarding the package was that it had been sent from one of three Europin locations there. The fact that it came from Rome meant that although there was no sender listed, there would have to have been a customs form, and by extension, a name and payment method attached in case of a claim.

I briefly toyed with hacking into the US Customs’ site to get the information, but that, too, meant a lengthy hack. I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. There had to be a faster way in.

Time to get myself some more coffee. On the way to the kitchen, it occurred to me that if the package had been declared lost, the shipper would be required to notify both the sender and the shipper’s insurance company to handle the claim. That meant if I could find out who the shipper’s insurance company was, I could penetrate that database and possibly come up with the information I needed.

But first I had to find which company was the shipper’s insurer. After another hour of digging around I discovered Carriers’ Assurance International, or CAI for short, often worked with Europin. To confirm, I called CAI’s local office.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m following up on a lost package insured by CAI. Can you let me know the process for filing a claim and which forms I need to fill out?”

“Sure.” The guy had a nice, cheerful voice. “You can get the forms online.” He directed me to a URL where all the pertinent forms and information were located.

I spent the afternoon hacking into CAI’s systems but never made it all the way into the client database. I didn’t have to since I was able to penetrate their email system. It was enough to confirm that CAI was handling the insurance for my package, after I cross-referenced my shipping number.

My next step was to get the two companies to share information about who’d actually shipped the package to me so I could intercept it. I took the claim form and filled it out with the shipping number and my address, declaring it was never delivered. Thankfully I wasn’t prompted to provide the shipper’s information, which was logical since I assumed they already had information linked to the shipping number.

Unfortunately that was all I could do for the day, given the six-hour time difference between Rome and Washington. No one would read my claim until the morning. Right now everything was closed up and people were sleeping in Italy.

I drove home from work, trying not to feel sad that Slash wouldn’t be there. When I got to the house, I made myself a bowl of Cheerios and ate it in front of the computer. It didn’t cheer me up. I gamed a bit, but my heart wasn’t in it. Feeling like I needed a change of pace, I pulled on a pair of shorts and worked out, running three miles on the treadmill and practicing my Krav Maga self-defense moves until sweat dripped down my face.

After a while, I sat on the mat in the middle of the room, drinking water and feeling sorry for myself. I hated every minute of being alone. How had this happened to me—the girl who used to prefer solitude? I wondered if Slash had felt this way when I’d gone to the British Virgin Islands and he’d been left alone in this big house.

The doorbell rang and I checked my phone app to see who was there. There was only one person I knew who was that short and would wear that particular shade of neon yellow. I ran down the stairs, disengaged the security alarm and opened the door.

“Basia, what are you doing here at this hour?”

“It’s nine o’clock.” She stepped into the house, shaking her short, dark bob and giving me a once-over. “OMG. Were you working out?”

I felt mildly offended. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“Are you kidding me?” My best friend pursed her lips and gave me the same affectionate, but slightly bewildered look she’d been giving me since our days as roommates at Georgetown.

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